


The Ten Step Guide To Being A Delinquent [ON HOLD]

by CrestofCaw



Series: Tell Me I'm Lying [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artists, Author, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, M/M, Marijuana, No Volleyball, Panic Attacks, Skinny Dipping, Social Anxiety, be gay do crimes, its not that angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrestofCaw/pseuds/CrestofCaw
Summary: After the runaway success of his first novel, author Akaashi Keiji decides to take his next story in a new direction by taking on the perspective of social, high school delinquents. The only problem: Akaashi is paralyzingly antisocial and has no way to relate to the characters. Bokuto Koutarou, however, comes into his life to teach him how to be rebellious. Laws are broken, walls are broken down, and malls all broken into.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Komi Haruki/Konoha Akinori, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, other relationships minor - Relationship
Series: Tell Me I'm Lying [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870036
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	1. I Want To Make You Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step One: Meet Someone New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this was supposed to be a super lighthearted romance side project to work on but while i planned it out i ended up becoming far more attached to the concept and also made it far more emo than initially planned. it is a lighthearted romcom where the gays do crimes but prepare for it to get sorta serious.  
> yehaw

** Step 1: Meet Someone New **

“At this point, I just want to scrap it and start over.”

An exacerbated sigh sprouted through the line, like vines breaking through concrete. “Akaashi, I say this out of love. You are _not_ restarting this _fucking_ book.”

The man in question grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You read the zero draft I sent you.” He had to restrain himself, noticing how his voice cracked from stress like a whip. “You know it’s complete, inauthentic garbage. I feel like I’m writing caricatures of teenage delinquents.”

Konoha, Akaashi’s editor and consultant, slipped the hand unoccupied with his cellphone through his sandy locks. Tugging lightly on the follicles from stress, as though he was weeding his garden, Konoha considered the right words to convince Akaashi to push through his writer’s block. It was true: this book was far different from what Akaashi’s previous novel had been in themes, characters, mood, and style. As a follow-up, it was highly inadvisable to move in such a contrasting direction. Akaashi, however, was never one to adhere to conventions, so when he came to Konoha with the concept for something new and challenging, the editor only encouraged it. The issue was not the shift in artistic direction, though. It was the fact that Akaashi could not relate to the spontaneous, social, rule-breaking delinquents that he had chosen to write about. The raven-haired man was the textbook definition of antisocial, spending day and night locked away in his apartment without interaction. In fact, the only social stimulation he received was with Konoha and publishers.

“You just need to find a way to relate to the characters more. Get out, take risks, have some fun!” Konoha suggested, sounding as though he was selling Akaashi a new car.

The man was unconvinced. “Those all sound horrible. Why can’t I just write about a sad, miserable loser again? Stick to what I know.”

Konoha’s voice morphed from a soft soil into a sturdy sediment. “You told me you wanted to do this and I’m not letting you back down. Why don’t I send you my friend’s number. He’s a total free spirit, so he’ll be a great reference for your characters. His name’s Bokuto and he’ll be thrilled to take you out and do crazy delinquent shit.”

The mere mention of forced interaction with a stranger was like touching a hot stove, Akaashi hissing from aversion. Konoha, however, was not making an offer.

“You can’t say no. I promise you’ll have fun, he’s the sweetest person.”

So that was how Akaashi’s perfectly crafted and maintained solitude was rudely disrupted. He propped himself on his bed, anxiously awaiting a text message from this Bokuto guy. It’s not that he didn’t believe Konoha when he told him that Bokuto was a nice person, but it didn’t really matter how great of a dude he was. For fuck’s sake, Akaashi hasn’t even seen a single one of his neighbors. If there was a method of avoiding interaction, he would take it no matter how inconveniencing it would be.

But here he was, preparing to metaphorically eat his vegetables. Disgusting, social vegetables. The vibration of his phone felt like a bomb exploding in his pocket. He flipped open his messages app to a criminally short list of contacts, clicking on the newest notification from an unknown number.

**[???]: Hey hey! Is this Akaashi? Konoha gave me your number**

**[???]: (This is Bokuto btw)**

Akaashi sighed at the text. Nothing in it was particularly offensive, but he was in a sour mood. He added the number into his contact list before typing out a response.

**[AKAASHI]: hi bokuto. yes that’s me. not sure how much Konoha told you but basically i need to loosen up a bit for a book im writing.**

**[AKAASHI]: why dont we arrange for coffee to discuss the details**

**[BOKUTO] : Totally! That’s super rad that you’re an author! I can meet up anytime my schedule is open**

Akaashi lied, stating that he wouldn’t be free until tomorrow. He technically could have met up later that day, but the writer figured he had enough social interaction for the day. He talked to two people, dammit! So what if one was over text?

With the rest of the day open to his enjoyment, unable to progress any further in writing, Akaashi settled onto the couch with his laptop to read various blog articles. It had become a habit of his to read through practically every blog entry released by the publication he was familiar with. Before he got his book deal, Akaashi had been a freelance writer for an online publication. For three years after college, the writer spent his days posting countless articles in hopes that something would pick up viral attention and lead him to publishing contacts. This was how it was for most aspiring authors. While none of his works ever amounted to any mentionable success, he nonetheless was lucky enough to be a twenty-six-year-old published author with representation.

Today’s articles were particularly juicy:

 _“I Ate Only Pineapple For 30 Days And This Is What Happened”_ Kinda weird but worth a read (spoiler alert: she passed out from malnourishment).

 _“Dressing Corn Dogs Up Like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles”_ Can’t say it’s not an original idea.

 _“How To Join A Satanic Cult: Tips, Tricks, and Mistakes to Avoid”_ Could be a good backup if this novel doesn’t work out.

After two hours of scrolling aimlessly, Akaashi finally pried himself away from his laptop to eat dinner. Bare soles stung against the cold kitchen tile as Akaashi crossed through his apartment to raid his fridge for leftovers. As suspected, he had finished them all leaving only a scarce amount of groceries. Akaashi did not feel like cooking, so he slipped his laptop back open and ordered takeout. He made sure to tip extra and add a note to just leave the delivery at his door and leave. This was what he always did, wanting to avoid even the slightest of social interaction. The shut-in would even order his groceries to be delivered instead of going to the store.

Raven locks flopped unceremoniously against the back of the living room sofa as Akaashi rested back and scrolled through Netflix, looking for something to put on. He only got through one episode of the show he had seen a thousand times, but knew he liked, before the doorbell ring. Akaashi paused the show, waiting a minute before trotting to his front door to collect his dinner. He always waited to ensure that the delivery person was no longer in the visible proximity of his apartment.

Lifting the rather large bag off the ground, Akaashi brought his order into the kitchen to ration out the food. He always ordered extra food when he got takeout so that he could eat leftovers for the next few days. Before no time, the bag of takeout was nestled into the fridge, sans scoop of rice and curry, and Akaashi was sitting on the couch jovially chowing down.

Hours past watching episode after episode, empty plate deposited on his cluttered coffee table. It wasn’t until Netflix asked the man if he was still watching (which felt a little passive aggressive) that Akaashi realized that it was just past midnight. Despite doing literally nothing, sliding into bed was a heavenly feeling. Akaashi’s covers felt cool against his skin, lulling him into a quick and peaceful sleep.

Stepping out of the apartment and onto the cool, Fall street felt like dragging a cat into a bath. The only difference was that Akaashi was the cat and he was dragging himself into social interaction. He felt a bit like a pulsing void radiating pain and suffering (a dramatic but apt description) so he was dressed sloppily, simply dawning a baggy pair of jeans and loose-fitted sweater. Bokuto lived just outside of the city, so the two agreed to meet at the coffee shop just down the block from Akaashi’s apartment.

Upon entering the cozy shop, a man seated at a booth in the corner comically waved his hands over his head to get the man’s attention. Akaashi made eye contact with the man’s amber irises, realizing that he must be Bokuto. Akaashi didn’t actually know what Bokuto looked like, but obviously the other man knew what he looked like. The raven-haired man gave Bokuto a small wave of acknowledgement before shuffling up to the counter and ordering a plain coffee. He suddenly felt incredibly awkward as he stood by the counter awaiting his drink. Should he go talk to Bokuto while he’s waiting for his drink? Should he try and acknowledge him again? He instead decided to continue staring at the floor while he waited. He did, however, give a subtle glance towards the man. Bokuto was scrolling through his phone, giving Akaashi the opportunity to take the man in. He was built powerfully, with broad shoulders and noticeable muscles. His hair was the most noticeable trait of his, short spikes dyed a combination of black and white styled up into two adjacent spikes. It made Akaashi think of a horned owl.

After his coffee was slid across the counter, Akaashi gripped the cup and took a deep breath, preparing for the upcoming conversation. Bokuto’s face lit up as he approached, slipping his phone into his pocket and sliding his cup of coffee slightly closer to him on the table.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi! Konoha sent me a picture of you so I knew who to look for! I hope that’s ok!” The man’s voice was quick paced and buzzing, like a grasshopper bouncing with energy.

Akaashi had to consciously keep eye contact with the man across from him, natural instinct willing his gaze towards the floor. “That’s ok, Bokuto. I apologize in advance. I’m not very skilled at conversation.”

Bokuto frowned lightly at the admission. “That’s silly! You’re doing great, ‘Kaashi. Can I call you ‘Kaashi?”

“Er- sure.”

“Ok, ‘Kaashi. I want to hear all about this book you’re writing. And how many books have you written? What are they all called?”

The writer had to hold back from commenting on the quantity of questions being posed, instead answering them all to the best of his ability. “Well, I’ve only written one so far. It came out four months ago and sold a bit more than expected.”

It was a modest way of phrasing things. His debut novel had sold ridiculously well for a first-time writer. It was a weird feeling, suddenly having disposable income and an achievement to his name.

“And so now I have to follow up that success and I don’t want to just write the same thing. The problem is that what I wrote before was easy to write because it was relatable. I’m having a hard time writing about experiences and feelings and dialect from perspectives so different from my own world view.” The alarms in Akaashi’s brain were deafening, alerting him to the fact that he was speaking far too much. The author attempted to mute these instinctual warnings, knowing that he needed to explain his situation with as much articulation as possible.

Bokuto seemed enthralled by every word, leaning in and propping his elbows on the table like a puppy begging for a treat. “Yeah, I totally get it! You want to write something that’s appendix.”

Black brows furrowed in confusion. “Appendix?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto looked at Akaashi like he had three noses. “Like you want to write something believable and genuine.”

“Oh, you mean authentic.” Akaashi sipped his coffee to hide his amusement. “Anyway, Konoha told me that you’d be a good reference so if you are interested I would be willing to pay you to…” He thought on his words for a moment, realizing just how ridiculous it all sounded. “… show me how to be rebellious?”

The black-and-white haired man cackled, voice booming over the light music playing over the cafe speakers. The sound made something warm bubble up in Akaashi’s chest, but he refused to consider the implications. “You’re so formal about all this! Hell yeah, we can hang and be delinquents. But you don’t have to pay me. We can just be friends.”

Akaashi shook his head, wanting to keep the man at arms distance. “I believe it would be best if we keep our relationship strictly professional. I am simply seeking out a service and will compensate fairly.” It came out blunt and stoney, but the writer thought it better to make his intentions clear.

“C’mon, really? I can tell you could use a friend, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto pouted.

He wasn’t sure whether he was seriously offended or if he simply felt like he should be more offended, but Akaashi shot the man a glare that could kill. He then stood from his seat, preparing to leave. “We’re not doing this.”

Bokuto stood as well, attempting to salvage the situation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. You think I’m a sad lonely loser and you want to make me into some charity case. Well, fuck off.” Akaashi’s voice was low and forceful. He didn’t register anything else Bokuto said after that as he stormed out of the coffee shop and onto the street. It seemed that Bokuto was wise enough not to chase after Akaashi, leaving the man to stomp back to his apartment.

As he shut the door behind him and slumped to the floor, Akaashi allowed the stress and anger to escape his body like steam escaping a boiling teapot. The man glanced at his phone screen to see a message from Konoha sent twenty minutes prior.

**[KONOHA]: Hey, Akaashi! Enjoy your coffee with Bokuto today. :) Tell me how it goes, I know you two will get along great.**

**__** _Oh. Oops._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed. im gonna keep plugging away at this. kudos and comments motivate me so friction much so if you have the time and enjoyed it, it would be much appreciated. literally one comment will take me out of a slump and get me pumped up again
> 
> see you in STEP TWO: 01101000 01100001 01110101 01101110 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110101 01110011 01100101


	2. I Dress Wounds With Hesitant Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 2: Go To A Haunted House

** Step 2: Go To A Haunted House **

People often say that sleep impassions even the most severe anger. This, evidently, was true as Akaashi woke up from a particularly long nap later that day. His first thought was that he fucked up royally. Ok, so he sort of knew that from the moment he stormed out of the coffee shop, but the author was able to understand this with remarkable clarity as he stretched off the couch. He silently swore at his own temperament with each pop of his vertebrae. Grabbing his phone, Akaashi braced for the likely slew of messages from Bokuto telling him what a shitty person he was.

He had to scroll past the wall of texts from Konoha that were probably chastising his behavior in order to reach his messaging conversation with Bokuto. The man’s recent texts to Akaashi were not what the author predicted.

**[BOKUTO]: Hey I wanted to apologize for what I said. I really didn’t mean to say such a hurtful thing, but I know excuses aren’t what you want to hear so just know I’m sorry**

The raven haired man sighed, almost wanting Bokuto to be justifiably angry with him. The especially polite and accountable apology was only salt in his wounds, knowing that he was the one in the wrong.

**[AKAASHI]: you dont have to be sorry. that was my fault entirely for blowing the situation out of proportion. you were only being a kind person and i disrespected you. if you are still interested id like to start over. although id like to keep things strictly business.**

**[BOKUTO]: Let’s forgive and forget!**

**[BOKUTO]: And that’s cool with me, business partner! :D**

**[BOKUTO]: Let the training begin!!! I’ll pick you up tonight at 9 so send me ur address!**

**[AKAASHI]: that’s so late…**

**[BOKUTO]: LOL! xD**

**[BOKUTO]: …….**

**[BOKUTO]: Omg ur serious**

**[AKAASHI]: yes i am**

**[BOKUTO]: Akaashi!**

**[BOKUTO]: Ur like a grandpa! TOO BAD! No backing out staying up late is part of being a delinquent**

Nine o’clock rolled around far too quickly for Akaashi’s comfort. The man sat on his couch, reading reference material and sipping coffee as he awaited imminent doom. Bokuto still had yet to tell him what exactly they were going to be doing tonight. A chill of nervous anticipation ran through his spine as his mind flipped between terrifying and unrealistic scenarios. Murder? Meth? Arson?

He shouldn’t have felt surprised and unprepared as Bokuto texted him that he had arrived at his apartment, but he was nonetheless. Akaashi quickly tossed a denim jacket over his pale, yellow hoodie and slipped out the door and trudged down the staircase. Bokuto was parked right outside the doors of the apartment complex, sitting in a rusted, navy blue car. Upon spotting Akaashi, the spiky-haired man waved enthusiastically.

As Akaashi sank into the passenger seat of the vehicle, Bokuto greeted him cheerily. Akaashi returned his salutation with a polite greeting of his own. As the driver pulled onto the street, Akaashi fidgeted nervously.

“So, where are we going?” The writer questioned.

Bokuto’s grin took on a more mischievous presentation. “You’ll see…” He raised the pitch of his voice in a teasing manner.

Akaashi felt like he was being carried to his grave, wanting to leap out of the moving vehicle. He solemnly sank back in his seat, noting the way Bokuto tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the punk pop song playing that Akaashi didn’t recognize. He had to admit that Bokuto had an almost boyish charm to him, a unique innocence that made you feel like you’ve been missing out. In a way, this quality almost made Akaashi relax some about the prospect of whatever horrible mystery lie ahead of him. Almost.

While it might not have been the worst possible revelation, Akaashi was nonetheless mortified as they pulled into the parking lot for a haunted house. It was actually his first reminder that Halloween was only in a few days. He began to fidget in his seat.

“If you are expecting me to go through that haunted house, you are sorely mistaken.” The building in front of them was tall and made of brick overgrown with vines. He thought he’d read that it had previously been a school before it was abandoned and repurposed for Halloween.

Bokuto pouted. “We _are_ going. It’ll be fun!”

“Fuck no.”

“Fuck yes.” Bokuto unbuckled and pulled the key out of ignition. “This is meant to be a harmless step two to ease you into this.”

Akaashi chose not to acknowledge Bokuto’s not-so-subtle insinuation of his wimpy nature, instead focusing on a specific word choice. “What do you mean, ‘step two?’”

The other man slipped out of the car, circling around the front and opening the passenger door for Akaashi. The man refused to lift himself off his seat, so Bokuto took the next logical step of poking at his ribs. He nearly missed his target, the man’s loose-fitted jacket hanging deceptively far from where his narrow torso began. Fortunately for the spiky-haired man, his index finger jabbed straight into a sensitive location right below Akaashi’s ribs.

The sitting man’s defiant aura cracked for a moment as a shrieking giggle slipped out. “Ok, ok, I’m going.” He stood to get out of the car.

The two walked towards the ticket booth, Akaashi trudging while Bokuto skipped merrily. Once they purchased their tickets they were directed into the building, where a snaking line was formed. Judging by the sheer quantity of people, it seemed like they would be waiting for upwards of an hour. Akaashi wouldn’t mind putting off the haunted house for another hour, but he did mind attempting to interact with someone who was still a relative stranger.

“You didn’t answer me, Bokuto. Step 2?” Akaashi fiddled with his ring finger, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of people.

The other man appeared far more comfortable in the environment. “Yeah! It’s a ten step program to teach you to be rebellious and cool.”

Akaashi should’ve been more offended. A deadpan ‘ouch’ was all he could muster the passion to deliver.

“No offense.” Bokuto added, equally uncaring. “Step one was to meet me. Step two is to go to a haunted house.”

Akaashi wanted to comment on how poorly he performed at the first step, but refrained. The two shifted in the line, clearly considering where to go conversationally. Deciding it was time that he finally took a social lead, Akaashi spoke first. “So, uh, what’s your deal?”

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to phrase it, but Bokuto seemed to get the intent, chuckling to himself. “Well, I’m a painter. I can make ends meet, but I haven’t quite made it I guess.”

The man looked a little sheepish, Akaashi figuring he felt self-conscious about his occupation. He wanted to tell him that he was literally the last person to judge someone’s career, but he was concerned about misarticulating like he tended to do.

“I dunno. I moved away from home for college and then even further to come here. Komi’s the only person from my hometown I still talk to, and he moved out here when he married Konoha.” The spiky-haired man appeared to have difficulty speaking for the first time since Akaashi had known him.

The line shifted forwards again, the two moving to stand in front of a vending machine. Bokuto’s eyes lit up at the sight of the large apparatus, scanning its contents. “Ooh, they got Cafega Energy Drinks! Do you want one, ‘Kaashi?”

The shorter man shook his head. “No, thanks. Those have forty-seven grams of added sugars.”

Bokuto pressed five quarters into the coin slot, choosing to ignore the fact that Akaashi knew that off the top of his head. “Huh. Must be why they taste so good and esophagus liquifying!”

The sickeningly sweet drink was guzzled down in mere seconds, leaving Akaashi completely baffled and astonished. He rolled his eyes as Bokuto belched at an obnoxious volume, tossing the empty can into a garbage can.

After a particularly riveting game of “I Spy,” the two were finally at the front of the line. A rather uninterested looking worker glanced between the two, seeming too will his shift to expedite. “We’ll wait, like, two minutes and then you guys can go.” He deadpanned.

Akaashi was vibrating with nervous tension, only then able to grapple with his imminent doom. Bokuto squawked excitedly, gripping the author’s shoulder and shaking it giddily. The two were juxtaposing each other in every way.

Two minutes passed and like he said, the worker stepped aside to allow the two to enter the haunted house. Bokuto grabbed Akaashi’s wrist and dragged him into the dark, narrow hallway. They were immediately met with a ninety degree turn to the left into a short hallway that gave entry to a room. The room was illuminated with red light and decorated to appear as though it was the cellar of a prolific serial killer. Fake bodies were strewn about alongside bloodied tools and strange decorations. It was pretty tacky.

As Bokuto led Akaashi through the snaking pathway forged by surgical tables and fake corpses, the latter man’s nerves dissolved and were replaced with relative annoyance. It felt like a silly waste of his time. One of the prop bodies, lying on a surgical table underneath a hospital sheet, turned out to not in fact be a prop. An actor, coated in fake blood and special effects makeup, sprung from beneath the cloth while he screamed maniacally. Bokuto’s shriek was frankly more shocking to Akaashi, though he remained unbothered by the disturbance. He had never been one to watch horror movies or celebrate the season, so he wasn’t certain how scares would affect him. As it turns out, they didn’t.

“How are you not scared?!” Bokuto yelped, trembling against the neutral man.

Akaashi shrugged, pushing onward into the next room. “We’re not in any danger.”

A look of befuddlement was plastered across Bokuto’s face, frustrated by this overly simple response. Unfortunately for him, this dynamic was perpetuated as they continued through the haunted mansion. The author was unfazed whether it was a room covered in fake spider webs, a hallway filled with performers pretending to be mannequins, or a staircase that shook as they crossed. The entire time, Bokuto gripped onto Akaashi’s wrist tightly, the warmth spreading up the man’s arm.

After twenty minutes venturing room to room, it seemed like the two were finally nearing the end. And that’s when it happened. Akaashi froze in place at the sound of a baby's cry ahead of them. It was obviously being emitted from speakers, but it was enough to cause the previously unbreakable to lock into place. His eyes sprung wide while his lips curled into a shuddering grimace. 

Bokuto held back his laughter. “Seriously? This is what gets you?”

“Fuck babies.” Akaashi eloquently reasoned. He shifted his hand so it was directly interlocked with Bokuto’s. Akaashi noted the way his fingers were longer, causing his hand to be larger in spread, but Bokuto’s palms were larger.

The two pressed on, slow and timid. The hallway was filled with an opaque blanket of fog as the sounds of an infant's wails bounced off the narrow walls. A subconscious whimper escaped Akaashi’s throat as he pressed his body closer into Bokuto’s side. Suddenly, a hand shot through a hole low in the wall and grabbed at Akaashi’s ankle. This sent the shorter man into a shrieking frenzy as he sprinted forward through the hallway. More and more hands were pressing through openings in the walls as the two passed. Akaashi was screaming obnoxiously loud as he practically dragged Bokuto through the foggy hallway, until he noticed that the black-and-white-haired man was barking laughter instead of screams.

At that moment, Akaashi fully grappled with the ridiculousness of it all and the sheer amount of fun the whole thing actually was. He continued to sprint, although he slowed to be more alongside the other man, but now his screaming was intermixed with laughter of his own. Their hysterics were unwavering as the two shot out of the open doorway and into the cool, outside air. Akaashi tripped over Bokuto’s feet as they sprinted through the lawn, attempting to slow their momentum, causing them to spill into a pile on the damp grass. The two attempted in vain to catch their breaths after the exertion and giggling.

“See?” Bokuto huffed, chest heaving. “Doing things is fun!”

Akaashi was similarly unable to speak over his gasping for air. He conceded, however, after giving himself more time to calm down. “I’ll agree with you on the premise of haunted houses.”

A fist pumped the air before Bokuto flopped back against the lawn. “That’s all I could ask for. But you better get ready for step 3!”

“I look forward to it.”

The ride back to Akaashi’s apartment was pleasantly quiet. The two did not speak much, but their faces were unable to suppress their beaming grins. Every once in a while, one of the two would start giggling, seemingly unprovoked. The other would give a questioning look, only to be met with an answer to the extent of “just thinking about the scary babies.”

Unexpectedly, Akaashi felt himself longing to stay in that car as it pulled into the apartment parking lot. The night didn’t feel like it was over yet, despite being more eventful than any night he’d had in the past few years.

“So, this is goodbye for now.” The writer unbuckled his seat.

Bokuto’s face was almost unreadable, but he suspected the man was feeling similarly longing. “Uh, yeah. Thanks for coming along.”

Akaashi felt slightly awkward as he forced himself to hold eye contact. “Thank you for taking me along. I had a lot of fun, Bokuto.”

Bokuto seemed to light up at the idea that he made Akaashi happy. He guessed he couldn’t blame the spiky-haired man; Akaashi was notoriously displeased. After wishing each other a quick goodbye, Akaashi slipped into the apartment lobby and made the trip up the staircase to his unit. The living space felt noticeably quiet as he entered for the first time since Akaashi had moved in. Slipping off his shoes and trudging to his bed, there was a distinct feeling of loneliness piercing inside him.

Something about the apartment felt dead in a way it hadn’t before. It was like the color had been sucked from his environment. If he had thought about it more, he may have come to the conclusion that Akaashi had actually gained color rather than his apartment losing it.

Akaashi’s thoughts, however, were returning to Bokuto and all that was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Stay tuned for Step 3: 01010100 01101000 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01010000 01110101 01101101 01110000 01101011 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01000100 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01100001 00100000 01001000 01101001 01101100 01101100


	3. I May Smile (But Never To My Eyes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step Three: Throw Pumpkins Down A Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This was a tough chapter to write, so hopefully it turned out ok. It did show me more of what I need to work on form a writing perspective though so learning experience!
> 
> Enjoy!

** Step 3: Throw Pumpkins Down a Hill **

Konoha’s voice was a Venus flytrap, snarky with the recognition of a mosquito in its mouth. “So, you had fun?”

“I wouldn’t say _that_.” Akaashi attempted to feign indifference. “It was fine, I guess.” In all reality, they both knew it was more than just fine. Akaashi had more fun that night at the haunted house than he had in… longer than Akaashi wished to admit.

Despite not being able to see his face through the phone line, Akaashi could practically feel Konoha’s smirk. “Totally.” His voice dry, a soil after days without water. He decided to change tactics, topics like a crop rotation. “Well, have you at least gotten some strong reference material for your novel.”

Akaashi felt like a child realizing too late that he forgot his homework at home, eyes frozen wide. “… I think I need some more experience still before I can get back to planning.”

“As long as it gets done. The publication is really pushing for a release in the May after next, so that means rough draft by end of February or it's my ass that takes the heat.” Konoha warned, though his words held no bite or chastisement.

Despite the relatively passive nature of the cautioning, Akaashi still brushed him off with an annoyed sigh. “I know, I know. I can get it done by then.” Akaashi was distracted by the ping of a text notification.

Hearing this, the snark in Konoha’s voice was a perennial blooming once again. “That Bokuto?”

“It so happens that it is. He just arrived at my apartment, so let’s put a pin in this conversation for the day.” Akaashi talked as he slipped his shoes on, preparing to leave.

After hanging up, Akaashi slipped down the apartment stairs and out onto the cool, fall street to Bokuto’s car. The spiky-haired man looked positively ecstatic to see Akaashi as the author lowered himself into the passenger seat. Bokuto wore a flannel overtop a tee-shirt with the logo for some rock band Akaashi had never heard of. It made him feel slightly overdressed in his maroon button-up and navy sweater vest, but he was in no position to start feeling self-conscious.

After Bokuto himself, the first thing Akaashi noticed as he got inside the car was the distinct and pungent smell of pumpkins. Looking to the backseat revealed the source.

“That’s a lot of pumpkins, Bokuto. Are we gonna carve them?” Akaashi asked, slightly excited by the prospect of something so low in danger or social requirement.

Bokuto chuckled. “Nope! For step three I’m going to bring you along for one of my favorite fall traditions.”

As the man pulled out of the parking lot, Akaashi attempted to decipher what that could possibly mean for the activity they would be taking part in. Giving up on figuring out on his own, he turned to Bokuto with the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. “What is it?”

“You should know by now that I’m not telling you!”

Akaashi crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. His questions only became more prevalent as they drove outside the limits of the city and into forested countryside. The car groaned in defiance as they drove up the steep incline of a particularly large hill. Once it finally triumphed over the inclination, Bokuto puled into a small parking lot at the top of the hill. Akaashi had never been there, but assumed this was a park of sorts. His conclusion was confirmed at the sight of a wooden sign reading “Hornet’s Ledge.”

Bokuto shot out of the car and opened the backseat, picking up one of the many pumpkins. Akaashi followed behind him, concern evident on his face, as Bokuto led the author just past the sign to where the ledge evidently began. It wasn’t a direct drop off, as a cliff would be, but rather an incredibly steep dip peppered with the few trees that were able to grow along the slope.

“Now can you tell me what exactly we’re doing?” Akaashi huffed, annoyance thick in his voice.

Bokuto’s grin was mischievous and disconcerting. “I could tell you… or I could show you!”

“That’s fine, just get it ov-“ Akaashi’s sentence was cut off from shock as the spiky-haired man tossed the pumpkin down the hill as one would send a bowling ball down an alley.

The orange sphere rolled and bounced down the hill, soft skin denting in as it slammed against the compacted dirt and rocks blanketing the hill. Akaashi found himself frozen in shock, left to watch in horror as the massive fruit careened into the stump of a tree at the base of the hill and burst open. What brought him back to reality was the barking laughter Bokuto spilled into.

“What the hell are you doing? We could get in trouble for this!” The author pleaded furiously.

As he continued to chuckle, Bokuto waved off Akaashi’s concerns. “We’re being delinquents. You gotta start letting loose and learning! You have a book to write, remember?”

“But this is different. Stop.”

Bokuto did not respond verbally, instead dashing back to the car and pulling out a second pumpkin. Despite Akaashi’s continued beseeching, he tossed it down the hill and cackled as the second pumpkin exploded against a sharp rock jutting out from the ground.

“You might as well join me, ‘Kaashi! Or do you want your book to suck?” The man’s voice was cunning and playful.

Akaashi realized there was no stopping Bokuto, and frankly he was right. If Akaashi wanted to write authentically, he’d have to break some rules. “Fine. One or two pumpkins.” Bokuto pumped his fist into the air triumphantly.

The two stood at the edge of the drop, pumpkin in each of their arms. Bokuto counted down before they both chucked the two orange squashes. Akaashi’s pumpkin rolled down more timidly, bouncing slightly upon contacting rock formation, but not splattering seedy guts until it impacted against the hills bottom. Bokuto’s, alternatively, was thrown too forcefully, exploding into a mess of innards instantaneously upon landing against the ground.

Akaashi felt laughter bubbling up in his chest as he witnessed the destruction. It was ridiculous and stupid and immature and fucking hilarious in every feasible way. The other man visibly lit up upon seeing Akaashi enjoying the activity, spilling into giggles of his own.

That’s how it began. The two would go back and forth from the car to the cliff, hurling pumpkin after pumpkin down the decline and cackling as slimy guts coated the hill. At one point, the two lined up five pumpkins and pushed them all down simultaneously, betting on which would reach the bottom first.

“I told you it was fun! You need to trust me more!” Bokuto asserted between laughs. Akaashi was inclined to agree, feeling the soreness in his stomach from laughter.

As the two opened the car door again to collect more pumpkins, Akaashi noticed that there were only three remaining. “Wait, keep the last two. We could carve them.”

“Good thinking!” Bokuto squealed, slapping Akaashi’s back. “Would you like to do the honors of tossing the last one?”

“Why don’t we toss it together?”

So the two stood at the top of the hill, each hoisting the pumpkin up in preparation to toss it together. “Ready?” Bokuto buzzed. With a nod, the two send the final pumpkin careening down the hill, chuckling as it burst at the bottom with the others.

Bokuto then lowered himself to lie on the ground, giggling excitedly. Akaashi opened his mouth to question this action, but was silenced when the taller man began rolling down the hill. He rolled down a path devoid of rocks of trees that would be unpleasant to roll into. When he landed at the bottom, Bokuto screamed up the hill for Akaashi to join him. For once, the author didn’t question his requests, kneeling down and beginning to roll down the hill himself.

Akaashi groaned as he reached the bottom of the hill, landing in a pile of pumpkin guts. He glared at Bokuto as the man cackled at the scene. “I like this outfit!” Akaashi pouted.

The other man continued to laugh, causing Akaashi to scoop a heaping of orange goo into his hand and chuck it directly into Bokuto’s chest, staining his grey tee shirt orange. “You didn’t!”

“I think I did.”

Bokuto took this as a declaration of war, fisting up a pile of stringy guts and sprinting directly towards the author. Akaashi squealed as he ran from the incoming attack, but morphed into a yelp as he slipped on a mound of pumpkin innards and fell square on his back. The spiky-haired man did not relent, however, as he dropped the guts in his hand onto Akaashi’s stomach, exposed from where his shirt and vest were disheveled.

Shrieking, Akaashi attempted in vain to wipe the seeds and goop from his skin. “Cold! It’s cold!” He bemoaned.

The two went back and forth tossing handfuls of pumpkin guts at each other until they were both thoroughly caked in the disgusting substance. The intense battle ended when Bokuto picked up two fistfuls of goop and plopped it directly onto Akaashi’s head, the author whimpering as Bokuto massaged it into his scalp for good measure.

“I give in. You win.” Akaashi fell backwards onto his back, limbs scattered unceremoniously. 

Bokuto preened, as though he had just won an award, before flopping down next to the raven-haired man. “Orange looks good on you!”

Rolling his eyes, Akaashi couldn’t hold back his grin. “Shut up.”

“It’s smaller than I expected.” Bokuto noted upon stepping into the apartment. “Y’know, cause you’re a successful author and all.”

Akaashi hummed, pulling his mired shoes off. “I don’t really have a need for anything larger than this.”

The two each took a turn showering, placing their dirty clothes into plastic bags to be washed. Akaashi lent Bokuto a spare change of loungewear to put on while his clothing was washed. The clothing was oversized, so Bokuto had no problem fitting into it despite his broader stature. Akaashi laid newspaper out across the cold, kitchen floor in preparation to carve pumpkins. The two sat, cross-legged, carving out holes into the tops of the orange spheres. Once the top was removed from the pumpkins, they used ice cream scoopers to spoon the insides out in an attempt to hollow them before carving.

Akaashi groaned, face scrunching in disgust. “I am so sick of pumpkin guts.”

“Me too… Yuck!” Bokuto stuck his tongue out, comically.

Once the pumpkins were acceptably hollowed out, the two took to carving away features into the hard flesh. Akaashi decided to keep things simple, carving out two circular eyes, a triangular nose, and a semi-circle for a mouth. Bokuto seemed to be choosing a more creative approach, meticulously carving away at what Akaashi could not quite make out yet. The author realized he may have gone too simplistic considering he was finished while Bokuto was likely only a quarter of the way through his project.

“Ugh, I forgot you’re an artist.” The man bemoaned, resting his chin in his hands. Bokuto seemed unfazed by the remark, continuing to form lines and features. Akaashi noted how the man’s tongue peaked out from the thin line of his lips, evidence of his concentration.

After ten more minutes, Bokuto marveled at his completed carving. Akaashi was finally able to get a full look at it and the finished product did not disappoint. It was a highly detailed carving of the face of an owl.

Akaashi did not realize his mouth was hanging open until Bokuto made a comment about catching flies. “Wow. Bokuto, you’re really talented.” It was all he was able to muster, still shocked by the impressive work.

The other man positively beamed at the compliment, teeth practically sparkling as his wide grin revealed them. Akaashi might have noticed the blush that dusted his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything about it. 

The two placed the pumpkins up onto the dining room table to be displayed, Bokuto furrowing his brows at the fact that the two decorations took up the entire surface. “Where are you gonna eat?”

“I usually eat on the couch anyway.” Akaashi brushed it off. “Speaking of which…” The raven-haired man pivoted and leaped onto the sofa, the living room only a few feet from the kitchen. Bokuto followed him in, plopping down next to the author.

The living room wasn’t messy or dirty, but rather organized in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasing to the eyes of a guest. Bokuto thought that it was as though Akaashi had been the only person in that room, so he never considered the idea of making the place aesthetically presentable. He wasn’t far off from the truth.

In the corner was a tall stack of books lying on the floor. Bokuto counted about eleven books in the pile before surmising that they were all identical books.

“You have so many of that one book. ‘Clouded Orbs of Another Number.’ Are you a big fan?” The taller man squinted at the title scrawled on the book’s spine.

Akaashi scratched the back of his neck. “Er- that’s the book I wrote.”

Bokuto turned wide-eyed in realization. “Oh! Woah, that’s crazy!” The man scurried across the room to sit next to the pile and inspect. He giggled enthusiastically at seeing ‘Akaashi Keiji’ typed in golden font below the title on the book’s front cover. “Why do you have so many though?”

“The publisher gave me a bunch of free copies to give to my friends and family.”

Bokuto’s eyes darkened, knowing. His attempts not to visibly show the sadness and sympathy he felt were futile, emotion evident as ever to the author. After a moment of understanding silence, Bokuto brightened up again.

“Well, why don’t you give me one? Since I’m your friend now!” The spiky-haired man reasoned.

Alarm bells blared in Akaashi’s mind, begging the writer to evacuate this situation. His face turned skeptical and closed off. “You don’t have to treat me like a charity case, Bokuto.”

Slipping back onto the couch, Bokuto shook off the statement. “That’s not what this is. You’re seriously so cool. You have this whole ‘I don’t give a fuck’ vibe to you but you still go along with all my antics. I know you’re just doing it because you’re writing a book, but you could’ve quit at any point. And when you’re having fun, you don’t hide it. That’s my favorite: when you’re having fun.”

It was now Akaashi’s turn to blush, though his mind was swimming far too intensely for him to care. Secretly, the man was elated by the fact that Bokuto didn’t mention that Akaashi wrote a book as his primary compliment. He was deeply insecure about the possibility that everyone only viewed him in any positive regard due to the fact that he was successful as an author.

“Th-thank you, Bokuto.” His stutter only made him realize how intense his blush must have been. “You know, you are amazingly observant.”

Bokuto frowned at this. “Hey! I don’t bend the knee to anyone!”

Akaashi was completely befuddled as to what the man meant by this, but realization quickly clicked in. “What? Oh, you’re thinking of ‘subservient.’ Observant means you notice things most others wouldn’t.”

“Oh! Thanks” Bokuto preened, laughing off the vocabulary mistake. Akaashi couldn’t help but spill into giggles at the confusion, Bokuto smiling warmly. “See? You shouldn’t hold back when you’re happy. It’s nice.”

A hand shot up to cover his flushed face, suddenly self-conscious. Akaashi felt like ten televisions were turned on to different channels and someone just turned on a radio. It was overwhelming, but exhilarating.

“You’ll just have to take me for step four to see me happy again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated! I'm moving into an apartment tomorrow for university so wish me luck lol!
> 
> Tune in next chapter for Step Four: 01110011 01101101 01101111 01101011 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100101 01100101 01100100


	4. I Won't Show You A Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 4: Smoke Weed

** Step 4: Smoke Weed **

The smell of fresh book wafted through the store as Akaashi scanned the aisles for books on his list of reference materials for his next novel. Of course, Bokuto’s ‘delinquent training regiment’ was the primary source of reference for his next novel, but it wouldn’t hurt to try and expedite the research phase of the process. From the corner of his eyes, he sensed the wandering eyes of a short girl who looked about high school age. He attempted to pay it no mind, shifting uncomfortably under the gaze, but eventually gave her a friendly smile of recognition. The girl seemed to have been shocked that he noticed her presence, sputtering shyly. 

After collecting herself slightly, she stepped forward to address him. “A-are you Keiji Akaashi?”

Akaashi frowned, confused by the fact that this girl seemed to know his name. “Uh, yes? How can I help you?” He seemed to forget completely that he had written an extremely popular book and was currently standing in a bookstore.

“Oh my gosh! No way! I just read ‘Clouded Orbs of Another Number.’ It was so amazing, please tell me you’re writing something new!” The girl practically buzzed, any hint of reservation washing away from excitement.

Smiling warmly, Akaashi realized that this situation was far less awkward than he would have expected. “Thank you for your support. I’m working hard on my next novel, so hopefully you won’t have to wait too long.”

The girl practically bounced off the walls, thrilled by the news. This gave Akaashi an idea. “Wait right here.” He said, before prancing into the new releases aisle and grabbing a copy of his book and pursuing the checkout counter. After paying for the book, Akaashi asked the cashier if he could lone him a pen. The disinterested worker handed the utensil across the counter alongside his recent purchase. Akaashi then slipped back into the fiction aisle, where the girl lingered confused, and flipped the book open to the front page and scrawling out his prettiest signature.

When the girl realized what he was doing, her jaw dropped open. Concern ranged low in Akaashi’s stomach as the writer wondered if this was a strange or unwanted action, but he waved the feeling off on the sight of her ecstatic grin.

After gifting the young girl the signed book, Akaashi left the bookstore with a wide grin, completely forgetting to get the books he had came for.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of pride for managing conversation with a stranger so adequately, Akaashi then made a trip to the grocery store. As the author strolled down aisles, filling his basket with various items he had run out of, he thought about how long it had been since he done this. Usually, when Akaashi needed groceries, he would order them to be delivered to his apartment and always request that the delivery person simply leave the supplied on his doorstep to avoid interaction.

This was a new era for Keiji Akaashi, even if these were things typical for most others.

The man glanced down at his phone to the list Bokuto had sent him before ‘step four’ of the rebellion course. 

Cookie dough mix: check.

Red bull: check.

Milk: check.

The cashier gave Akaashi no mind as he placed all the items from his basket onto the conveyor belt. He supposed it was only natural that he wouldn’t be reactive, but it had been so long since he had gone to the grocery store that, in a way, the author felt like everyone would know that he was out of place. But he wasn’t out of place. Akaashi was a regular twenty-something getting groceries.

Bokuto’s house was only an eight minute drive from the grocery store, residing only just outside the city limits. The neighborhood was heavily wooded and relatively compact in housing lots. Only a few yards separated each house, but the trees provided much needed privacy.

Pulling to the side of the road, Akaashi checked the address Bokuto sent him for the thousandth time just to be sure that he doesn’t accidentally knock on a complete stranger’s door. A thought invaded Akaashi’s mind. What if step four was to knock on a stranger’s door and Bokuto set him up? Of course, this was preposterous… But Akaashi also thought that it wasn’t so ridiculous for the spiky-haired man.

He figured he didn’t have much choice in the matter, however, so Akaashi glanced to the house associated with the provided address. It stood one story, primarily constructed of brick. The lawn appeared slightly overgrown, but not to any ridiculous extent. The stone staircase, leading from the sidewalk up to the front of the house, was cracked and worn. There was a tremendous character to the place that Akaashi would only come to expect from Bokuto.

The wooden porch creaked beneath Akaashi as he tentatively knocked on the front door. The sound of a squawk, followed by frantic footstep, boomed from within the household. The door swung open to reveal an excited Bokuto. He wore a Hawaiian shirt that looked to be about three sizes too large, sleeves ending at the joint of his elbow and completely engulfing Bokuto’s arm as to make it appear almost frail. The shirt itself was a blinding yellow with accents of equally saturated blue and pink flowers scattered about.

Of course, Akaashi couldn’t comment on poorly fitted clothing considering he himself was wearing an olive-green jacket that practically swallowed his torso from its great size.

The taller man pulled Akaashi into a welcoming embrace, slipping the grocery bag out of the author’s hand and into his own. The first thing Akaashi noticed inside the house as Bokuto led him into the living room was the amount of paintings lining the room in various states of completion. It was fascinating how Bokuto seemed to have four or five paintings that were all seemingly works in progress. What interested him more, however, was how Bokuto seemed to sequence the production of a work. Most would expect the scene to be painted in sections, completing a section fully before moving onto another quadrant of the canvas. In a painting Bokuto was working on of a deer in the woods, for example, there were streaks of paint all over the canvas, each not quite cohesively forming one subject, but rather a small aspect of the greater whole. This left empty space in between various streaks of fur on the deer’s pelt, where Bokuto had not yet gotten too filling in with a new shade.

Akaashi wondered if this was just how all painters worked, or if it was uniquely Bokuto’s technique. Part of him wanted it to be the latter, so there was another minute quirk that the man could be wholly endeared by.

The two plopped down on a pale-yellow sofa, the furniture wheezing beneath the weight. Bokuto’s feet stretched out onto the coffee table in front of them. Akaashi noted how the counter was filled with various papers and devices. Akaashi noticed that his book he had given to the other man was lying on the table, a bookmark nestled in about halfway through the novel. An unrecognizable feeling came over Akaashi. He wanted to label it as pride or affection, but those didn’t quite seem accurate.

Bokuto didn’t seem to notice where Akaashi’s attention had been directed, tossing an arm over the back of the couch. “You ready for step four?”

“That depends. Are you going to tell me what it is?” The author fixed Bokuto a cold stare.

The other man chuckled. “This time, yes! Today we are going to….” Akaashi felt like he was awaiting the guillotine dropping down on his neck. “… smoking weed.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Bokuto squawked. “You know what I’m going to tell you, ‘Kaashi. This is what delinquents do and you need to learn from experience if you want to write it.”

Akaashi tossed the reasoning around in his head. In all honesty, it wasn’t the most sound logic. But in an even greater honesty, Akaashi didn’t mind doing anything if it was with Bokuto. “Fine.” The painter celebrated his temporary victory. “But why’d you make me get cookie mix, red bull, and milk?”

Bokuto patted Akaashi on the back. “Because red bull and cookies are the best cure for the munchies.”

Akaashi furrowed his brows. “And the milk?”

“I was out.”

It took Akaashi several minutes before he realized that Bokuto had not, in face, had any marijuana. When he asked Bokuto how they were supposed to smoke weed without any weed, the spiky-haired man pulled out an envelope that seemed to be filled with cash, handing it to the raven-haired man.

“My guy will be here any second.”

Akaashi was perplexed, attempting to pass the envelope back. “Your guy?”

Bokuto nodded, refusing to take the cash back. “My dealer. Well, today he’ll be your dealer.”

“What?!” Akaashi’s eyes widened in horror. “I am not buying weed from a stranger.”

“Relax. All you have to do is answer the door, hand him the cash, and take the drugs. Easy as pie.”

A knock at the door caused a spike of adrenaline to fill Akaashi’s veins. Bokuto pushed him towards the door before dashing to conceal himself.

After a moment, a second knock rang at the door, this time more impatient. Not wanting to leave the dealer waiting any longer, Akaashi shuffled to the door, taking a deep breath and turning the knob to open the front door.

On the front porch stood a rather tall, lean man. He was likely a few inches taller than Bokuto, but not as broad. His hair was black and tousled into a hairstyle that rivaled Bokuto’s own in ridiculousness. The locks stuck up in a multitude of directions aside from the front bangs, which were styled into messy fringe that curved off to the side. The man’s eyes held a sinister mischief to them, lips thin and curled into a snarky grin.

The dealer’s voice was deep and filled with bemusement. “Hey, friend. You with Bokuto?”

“Er- yes.” Akaashi stuttered nervously.

The man seemed amused by Akaashi fright, but paid it little attention. “Cool cool. Password?”

As if Akaashi’s heart couldn’t beat any faster, this was only an added stress. He didn’t remember anything about a password. “Uh, I don’t- Bokuto never gave me- Why don’t I go get him?”

The author turned to return into the house and ask Bokuto about the password, but the dealer’s hand gripped tightly onto Akaashi’s bicep, preventing the man from moving.

The man’s voice turned cold and dark. “Where do you think you’re going? Call the cops? Get your gun? I’m not stupid, I know a snitch when I fucking see one.”

“L-look, I’m sorry.” Akaashi could barely get the words out. “Bokuto’s j-just inside.”

There was no movement between the two, Akaashi trembling vulnerably while the dealer glared holes into him, before tilting his head over’s Akaashi’s shoulder and yelling into the house.

“I can’t put this up any longer, it’s too mean.”

Suddenly, Bokuto burst out from the corner cackling. “Oh my god, Kuroo, you practically scared him to death.”

“What?” Akaashi felt as though he had missed some vital information.

The man, presumably named Kuroo, pat the writer on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. It was Bokuto’s idea. I’m not a dealer, I’m just a friend.”

Akaashi pivoted and shot Bokuto as furious a glare as possible, but found himself bubbling into laughter. Maybe it was just relief from the intense situation resolving so quickly, but maybe he had really changed and found it fucking hilarious.

The three sat on the floor, Akaashi shyly pulling his knees to his chest. Kuroo pulled out a zip-lock bag of small, green buds Akaashi presumed was weed, alongside a ceramic instrument that he referred to as a “bowl.” Frankly, Akaashi had never heard of it before and it certainly didn’t appear to look like the dining ware such a word usually referred to. It was shaped almost like a traditional pipe you’d see in an old time-y detective film, although the ending opening did not curve like a trumpet. It instead open directly upwards into the “bowl-shape” that the title referenced with a small hole drilled into the side.

Kuroo then placed one of the buds from the bag into the center of the bowl, pressing his finger over the hole on the side and lit the weed, sucking in. Akaashi watched as the man closed his eyes as the smoke entered his body. When the brown orbs opened again, his lids hung heavy in bliss.

The bowl was passed to Bokuto, who took a long drag, and then to Akaashi. The author’s hands shook as he held onto the instrument. “Uh, I’m not really sure… what I’m doing.”

The other two chuckled, but Bokuto seemed almost affectionate as he took the bowl back into his hands. “Here, I’ll light it, you just breathe in when I tell you.” The spiky-haired man instructed, placing his finger over the hole and pressing the end of the bowl against Akaashi’s lips. The author tentatively opened his mouth to allow air from the device to enter his lungs.

Bokuto brought the flame of his lighter down to the bud of marijuana inside the bowl, telling Akaashi to inhale. As Akaashi took as deep of a breathe as he could, he felt smoke flow into the back of his lungs. The sensation was so foreign, it sent the man into a flurry of coughs as he spit the tip of the bowl out of his mouth. Not wanting any smoke to go to waste, Bokuto quickly placed the end into his own mouth and sucked in the remaining smoke flowing from the bowl.

Kuroo’s laugh was even louder and more barking than Bokuto’s, the man reduced to cackles as Akaashi hacked and wheezed. Bokuto chuckled along, slapping the writer’s back sympathetically.

“Let’s try this again. You’ll get used to it.” The painter coached, inching the pipe back towards Akaashi’s lips.

Realizing he didn’t have much choice in the matter, Akaashi attempted to smoke from the bowl a second time. This time he surpassed the urge to cough as the smoke entered his lungs. It wasn’t that the effects were instantaneous, as he might have expected, but rather that the sensation of breathing in something that wasn’t oxygen was alien to his body.

After the three smoked enough weed to each be sufficiently high, Akaashi smoking a considerably smaller amount to account for his smaller frame and lack of experience. After a few minutes, the effects became evident to the raven-haired man as he attempted to shift his body on the floor. He was able to move like he normally would, but something about it felt fuzzy and disconnected. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

Bokuto pulled out three cans of red bull, passing the drink to each of the inhibited men. Akaashi frowned at the offering, noting the exact sugar content, but popped the tab and took a sip regardless.

The three aimlessly chatted and laughed about things none of them even remembered because it was frankly irrelevant. Akaashi realized that when he was high, his brain seemed to put a roadblock in place every time he attempted to think in any deep or analytical manner.

After about half an hour, Kuroo wished the two goodbye before slipping out the door. When Akaashi asked whether it would be ok for Kuroo to be on his own, Bokuto informed him that he lived just down the block with his fiancé.

The next phase of their experience would be to bake cookies. The sequential order of this activity being after getting high was highly debatable, but cookies sounded fucking delicious to Akaashi so he never complained.

The kitchen was a complete disaster as the two scrambled, pulling out bowls and utensils and ingredients. They ended up going through four eggs in an attempt to cleanly crack one into the mixing bowl. Akaashi couldn’t suppress his giggles and snorts as Bokuto made a performance out of every step of the baking process.

With a tray, smattered with a dozen mounds of dough, in the preheated oven, the two were left with an hour wait before they would be able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. Akaashi made an attempt to wipe down the counter, caked in flour and egg white, though he perhaps wasn’t as successful as he would be sober. He didn’t notice Bokuto passing behind him with a mug in each hand, presumably to get them each a cup of tea. As he turned to ring the dirty towel out into the sink, the author bumped directly into Bokuto’s side, knocking one of the mugs out of his hand and shattering onto the ground.

It was as though a light switch went off in Akaashi’s head, and all the things that had been good about being intoxicated flipped to the opposite. The raven-haired man only then fully grasped the fact that he was currently not fully in control of himself and wouldn’t be until the high wore off. The mere idea that he was subordinate to time, unable to change his state, filled him with pure dread. And that on top of the fact that he just broke one of Bokuto’s mugs. He was a burden that could not exist with others without ruining things. Akaashi was then acutely aware of each breath he took. It was a conscious effort to take each in, which introduced a new anxiety that caused the action to become vastly more difficult.

Backing away, Akaashi curled towards the floor as his breath continued to shorten and increase in desperation. Bokuto looked confused and frightened, clearly not understanding the seriousness that Akaashi was taking the event in his mind. To the painter, it was simply a broken mug. No big deal. But to Akaashi, it was so much more.

The taller man bent down to kneel in front of Akaashi, who was hyperventilating through expressions of apology. Bokuto gently placed his hands onto the author’s shoulders, careful not to be forceful, and began to demonstrate deep breaths.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe with me.” Bokuto’s voice was warm and smooth, honey attempting to soothe the fear within the other man.

Akaashi nodded, attempting to breath in unison with Bokuto. His breath was shaky and stuttering, but he felt himself calming down with each inhale and exhale. After a grueling minute of this, Akaashi felt the panic being replaced with humiliation and regret. There was a distinct realization of his vulnerability, not unlike the feeling of being naked.

Once he finally felt capable of speech, Akaashi pulled himself off the floor. “I-I’m sorry. I need to leave” The raven-haired man began towards the front door, though Bokuto moved to stand in his way.

“You shouldn’t drive while you’re high.” His voice was sympathetic and frail. “If you need space, you can rest on the couch.”

Figuring it wasn’t up for argumentation, Akaashi trudged into the living room and eased onto the comfortable sofa. Bokuto followed him in, pulling a maroon, knitted blanket out from a basket in the corner of the room and dressing it overtop Akaashi’s lying frame. The feeling of the blanket was warm and comforting, although what was more calming was the feeling of Bokuto’s hands gently pressing around him to tuck the blanket in. A part of his mind wanted to be wrapped in those arms forever, but he never vocalized this wish.

It wasn’t until his eyes creaked back open that Akaashi had even recognized the fact that he had gone to sleep. His mind felt groggy from sleep, but no longer held the fogginess of the high. Raven locks were brushed out of his vision with long, pale fingers as Akaashi scooted himself into a sitting position on the couch. The blanket he had been wrapped in flopped down into his lap, leaving him to shiver from the cold of the room.

Bokuto sat quietly in the corner of his room at an easel, painting something that Akaashi couldn’t yet make out. He swiped deep, navy across the blank canvas with such determination and focus, Akaashi felt as though he could watch this for hours. Unfortunately, the dryness in his throat led the man to press a small cough into the sleeve of his shirt, unintentionally alerting the painter to his presence.

Bokuto pivoted in his chair, flashing Akaashi a warm smile. Akaashi rubbed at his eyes, returning the acknowledgement. “How long was I out?” His voice was gravelly from rest.

“Two hours. I thought about waking you up, but you looked so peaceful.” Bokuto noted, face unreadable, before transforming into realization. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

The black-and-white haired man dashed into the kitchen, returning with a plate topped with cookies and a mug filled with hot tea. “Enjoy! I think we did a damn fine job, if I do say so myself.”

The plate was nestled onto Akaashi’s lap, the author cautiously taking hold of the mug of tea. The two sat in comfortable silence, sipping the liquid and chewing on the sweet confections.

It was Bokuto to break the quiet first. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into smoking and everything. I know you didn’t want to and I should’ve respected that.”

Akaashi shook his head, feeling guilty that Bokuto was taking the blame on himself. “No, it’s not your fault. I made the choice myself and I wouldn’t have done it if I truly didn’t want to.” There was a short period of silence, this time filled with an internal tension from the inane desire to discuss the panic attack. Akaashi decided to elaborate, realizing Bokuto wouldn’t ask. “I’m just… really worried about messing things up. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I don’t have a whole lot of people in my life. Things are just easier when you don’t have anyone to disappoint.”

The heartbreak was evident on Bokuto’s face, thin line of his lips curved into a saddened frown. “I don’t know who hurt you to convince yourself that everyone’s going to hate you, but please know that it’s bullshit.” Bokuto’s expression was now far more akin to determination. “The more you’ve showed me of yourself, the more I’ve liked you.”

The tears pricking at Akaashi’s eyes came as a surprise, little warning to their arrival. Every alarm in his mind fired with fear of letting himself believe what Bokuto said, but the intense desire to nonetheless. It was the gentle touch of Bokuto’s hand around his waist that truly broke Akaashi, curling in on himself as he choked through sobs.

Bokuto affirmed the crying man through every mumbled apology, rubbing soothing circles into his back. That was the moment Akaashi become distinctly aware that this was a real transformative moment in his life. Not that he wouldn’t mess up in the future or have more to learn, but that he could truly admit that he was changing and things were okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Things are really bad in my personal life and mental health so I want to work more on this as sort of an outlet?
> 
> Comments and kudos are really really appreciated. I love being able to read comments on these and it really makes me happy :)
> 
> Have a good day!
> 
> Stay tuned for Step 5: 01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01000001 01100010 01100001 01101110 01100100 01101111 01101110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01000010 01110101 01101001 01101100 01100100 01101001 01101110 01100111


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